


link to the past, bridge to the future

by thefinalpam (summoner_yuna_of_besaid)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blind Jack Morrison, Comedy, Disabled Character, Everyone is Present but Not Everyone is Super Important, Family, Gen, Genji/Lucio Background Pairing, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, Redeemed Reaper, Romance, team fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8394982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/thefinalpam
Summary: Once, in his lowest moment, Jesse McCree received a chance at redemption from a man that saved his life.  Now, he's out to return the favor.  Everyone else may have given up on "Reaper", but that's not gonna stop Jesse.Of course, he meant to do this mission on his own - having Hanzo Shimada tag along was not part of the plan.  And it all just goes downhill from there.A story of family, lost and found, of love broken and rebuilt, of this life we live and making the best of it.





	1. the link

**Author's Note:**

> This is a whole-team fic, building their relationships and juggling all the characters as best I can. The main characters are the ones listed in the tags, and of course it's mostly Hanzo and McCree. That's the main pairing as well. But like I said its kinda about everyone and how the new Overwatch team comes together.
> 
> I think it'll be two chapters. Hopefully. Lmao.

 

_In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future._

Alex Haley

-=|=-

Jesse McCree was once one of Blackwatch's best operatives. Personally trained by Overwatch's greatest, by the likes of Ana Amari and Gabriel Reyes, in the arts of espionage. It goes without saying that he was, and still is, one of the world's best undercover special operatives.

So he's really not sure how this is happening to him.

It's the middle of the night. A soft symphony plays with every wave that crashes against Gibraltar's rock face. It's the only sound, beside the quiet echo of his boots on the metallic landing pad. Beams of light echo over the newly reborn Watchpoint base, wondering over the outskirts, which McCree avoids as he strides through the base.

Everyone is asleep, everything is quiet, and Jesse McCree is swiftly making his way down the ramp through the base, completely unhindered.

And then there's an arrow in his face.

“What,” Grumpy Dragon Man grumbles from behind the bow. “are you doing.”

McCree freezes, a wince on his face. For a moment he hesitates. “... What's it look like?”

“It looks,” Hanzo continues, his voice as tense and taut as his bow string, “like you are leaving.”

“Welp,” McCree meets the dragon's eyes. “There ya go. That's yer answer.” He moves to side step around the man and Hanzo meets him step for step.

“Why?” The man's eyes narrow. “You are not listed for any missions. This is unauthorized.”

“Whaddya care?” Scoffing, the cowboy rears back, arms crossed. “You ain't even really an operative yourself.”

He's not – he's the brother of a former operative who'd just been called in, just like everyone else. The Recall, they're calling it. McCree's not sure how he feels about the whole thing, given how it went down before, but... hey. It's not like he's got better things to do.

At least, until this.

So now he's here, toe to toe with Hanzo Shimada, murderous grumpy eldest son of a criminal dynasty. His younger brother, Genji, returned to Overwatch and dragged him along for the ride. McCree ain't gonna touch that whole thing with a ten foot pole. Why the brothers are somehow getting along is not his concern. He just needs to leave.

Now.

“Look,” Sighing, McCree holds up his hands. “I got some personal business to take care of. Somethin' came up. I'll be back in a jiff, alright?”

“Stop speaking nonsense.” The bow doesn't move, but the string lessens somewhat. A smidge maybe. “You are hiding something.”

He can't help the snort that comes with that. “What gave it away, the part where I'm sneaking out, or the part where I ain't told nobody? Maybe it was the secretive nature of the whole thing.”

Smart mouth gets him a fully taut bow again. The point just brushes his nose, a warning that stings. His own fault, really. Since the man had shown up at the base standing in his brother's shadow, solemn and formal and all too serious, McCree has made Poking the Dragon something of a pass time. It's reflex now, really. He's never been that smart.

“Look,” Sighing again, McCree brushes his nose with his sleeve. A tiny prick of blood stains the fabric. “It's – complicated. Somethin' I gotta deal with. And nobody can know, alright? If it turns out bad -” _if what I think is true ain't true – or even, if it is true.._. “I don't want anybody getting' their hopes up only for it to go south. Get it?”

Grumpy Dragon finally lowers the bow. He looks like he just ate an entire bag of Sour Skittles. That's Hanzo for 'annoyed'. “No.”

Another heavier sigh. “I have to go help a friend.” He says finally. “Family, really. I let him down before and I can't do it again. The others can't know. They'll want to get involved... I don't want anybody hurt, alright?” Shoulders slumping, McCree considers the idea that he might have to actually fight Hanzo to escape. At this close range, he has the advantage. But he wouldn't get away without putting some serious hurt on the elder Shimada.

'Sour Skittles' melts into 'sucking on a grape'. It's a step down towards a mellow attitude. Hanzo hums, eyes thoughtful. And then, miraculously, the arrow goes back in its sheath, the bow returning to its resting place. “Fine,” Hanzo says. “But I am coming with you.”

McCree blinks. “Come again now?”

'Sour Skittles' is back. “You are not going on a rogue mission alone.” The man huffs. “Your fellow operatives would agree that it is foolish. If you do not wish them to join you, then I will be a suitable substitute.”

One word, one question, ricochets through his head, deafening like a gunshot. “Why?”

The reply is predictable. “It is the honorable thing to do.”

Of course. Honor. McCree fights the urge to smack his head into a wall. “Sure. Whatever. Do what you want.” He finally says.

“I'm coming, too.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Jehosephat!” Spinning round McCree grabs at his chest over his pounding heart. He turns in time to see another descending the staircase, red visor gleaming in the dark.

Soldier: 76 is an enigma. One of many new recruits to the Overwatch cause who weren't members before. Some kinda vigilante. Not that McCree can judge... but there's something about him that's off. McCree never wore a mask during his work. For all that he worked in shadows, he was straightforward about his actions. After Blackwatch, he swore: never again. The secrecy and hiding had to stop.

So working with a man in a mask makes him itchy. Having him sneak up on McCree makes him furious.

“And who the hell are you to say yer comin'!?” The cowboy snarls, hackles raised. This is getting ridiculous. Where did the man even come from!? There are few people in this world who can sneak up on Jesse McCree, and almost all of them are dead.

“You're chasing after a ghost.” The man says, coming to a stop beside them. “I know a thing or two about hunting 'em.”

“Oh, so what're ya now, the _Ghostbusters_?” McCree rolls his eyes, fed up and tired as he throws his arms up. “Fine! But ain't nobody else coming!”

Which is when Lucio, in the midst of his midnight stroll, rolls by on his skates and slides to a halt, taking in the sight of three team members standing in the middle of the Watchpoint.

“No,” McCree starts.

“Hey,” Lucio, oblivious, pulls out an earbud. “What's up fam? Got a mission?”

“Not really.” 76 shrugs. “More of a expedition I suppose.” Something in his voice is amused.

“Not happenin'.” McCree tries to insist, but he's interrupted halfway through by Lucio's loud cheer of, “Road trip!” He skates by, jabbering something about grabbing his things and hurrying back, sliding away in a flash of green. McCree, stunned and deafened, stands still in the aftermath.

Down the hall, voices.

“Hey, Winston!”

“Ah, Lucio! Good evening.”

“Just wanted to let you know, I'm joining McCree and them on their trip into town! You need anything while we're out? We could do a grocery run.”

“We are almost out of peanut butter. But only if you can make it; I don't want to have you going out of your way.”

“No problem big guy! See you on the flip side!”

McCree finally finds his voice again.

“... son of a bitch.”

* * *

  
They take a private flight to New York, and hop a hypertrain south. That night finds McCree laying on his back in a private room trying his best to sleep, with music thumping through the walls from the other room. He wants to be annoyed, to be angry that the music is keeping him up, but actually it's soothing and not at all related to why he's still awake.

But. He can still be bitter. It's hard to brood to _Synaesthesia Auditiva_.

Sighing, the man sits up, leans on his knees. What a day. A month, actually. Overwatch back together, brand new and better than before, supposedly. Not that it could be worse than before, without a hell of a lot of trying.

The halls of the Watchpoint are lively and loud again, and McCree isn't sure how he feels about it. He stands there watching this younger generation running around in his former home, where he finds himself waiting for someone to turn the corner who isn't coming. Amari. Reyes. Morrison. Liao. Gerard. So many just – gone. The new “heroes” walk through the building unhindered by its ghosts, but McCree is well and truly haunted.

He's glad to get away, to be honest. Sure, it's – nice. Not to be lonely anymore. To have some of the old team together. And he likes the new folk well enough. It's just – not his. Not his friends. Not his family.

Sighing, he rubs a hand over his forehead, shoulders slumping. The new team is so... strange. Social activists and video game streamers. People connected to this life in ways he can never understand. He's... static. A relic of a long-lost past in more ways than one.

Still... if he can do this... if he can save one piece of that past... it'll all be worth it.

A knock comes at his door. For a moment he ignores it. When the sound continues, brisk and firm, he sighs and stands. “Comin,'”

Hanzo's at the door, still fully dressed, as if he never even made an attempt at sleep. “Come,” he says, and then just walks away.

McCree watches him leave. Then he turns, closes the door to his room, and lays back down. Not a minute later pounding footsteps echo down the corridor and his door is rudely thrust open, no knock this time.

A bow is drawn, and aimed at him. McCree rolls his eyes. “You keep pullin' that trick it ain't gonna be as effective no more.”

“I said,” Hanzo repeats, fuming. “Come with me.”

“You said 'come'. Like I was a damn _dog_.”

A frown flutters over his face. “I apologize,” the man says it like it hurts him. “Come with me,” He repeats. Then, after a moment's thought, he manages to add, “Please.”

McCree hesitates for a second. Then he smiles. “Whaddya gonna do?” He snorts. “Shoot me?”

The expression McCree receives isn't 'Sour Skittles'. It's not even a little sour. It's a goddamn smile.

“I'm up!” McCree says shortly, standing and pushing past Hanzo, into the hall, as quickly as he damn well can.

 

* * *

  
That's how he comes to be seated in a larger room on the train, with Hanzo, 76, and Lucio seated around him. “What's this, an intervention?” McCree snorts.

“It is time you told us what this quest of yours entails.”

“You serious?” McCree shakes his head incredulously. “Y'all forced my hand. I never asked any of ya to come. Yer own damn fault ya don't know what ya got into.”

And, unsurprisingly, the bow is drawn again, and Hanzo is growling again.

“ _Tell us the truth_.”

McCree, fuming, stands, shaking his head. “Would ya put that damn thing away? The way you are, they should change the sayin' to 'arrow-happy'.”

Hanzo blinks. “I understand all those words separately.”

Lucio is on his feet in an instant. “Fellas, fellas,” A hand on their chests, pushing them apart. Reluctantly, Hanzo lowers his bow but doesn't put it away. “We're all on the same side here. Jesse, obviously whatever you're doing, you're gonna need help. We'll all be better off if we're in the know, right?”

McCree's look darkens, but he's thoughtful. Lips pressed in a firm line, he collapses back into his seat. “Fine.” He grumbles. “When this is over, ain't none of y'all can blame me. I didn't make you do this, ya hear?”

“Just tell them.” 76 sighs, arms crossed, grumbling something under his breath. It's hard to tell from the mask but McCree swears he hears a muffled 'children'.

It still takes a minute for him to compose himself. For all his posturing, this is hard. McCree manages another sigh. “Before I came back to Overwatch, I was on a trail. Chasin' down Talon in the US. Snagged a big lead, got in over my head. Almost lost my damn head. Only reason I didn't is cause, well... a Talon agent intervened. Saved my life.”

“Wait,” Lucio is leaning forward in his seat, barely restrained energy. “Talon saved you? The bad guys?”

“One of em, anyway. A man known by the codename 'Reaper'.”

Lucio's eyes widen in recognition. Hanzo's narrow, for the same reason. 76 is startlingly still.

“And he saved you?”

Exasperated eyes stare at Lucio. “Did I not just say that?” he asks, swinging his arms out. “Am I talkin' here or what?”

Lucio frowns, clearly hurt, but 76 holds out a hand towards him, and gestures at McCree. “Just keep talking.”

“It was strange, that's for dang sure. But... it got me thinkin'.” He sighs, leaning back into the chair. “There's another Talon agent, Widowmaker, who used to be Overwatch. Name of Amelie Lacroux, kidnapped and basically brainwashed into an assassin. So, I thought, if that happened to her, what's to say it ain't happened to other agents?”

“So I got digging into Reaper's background. I was already suspicious of how Talon gets so much of its playbook from Blackwatch. And Reaper, well – he ain't been around but for a few years. So... I'm wondering... if he ain't former Blackwatch. Maybe an agent, twisted to the other side.”

“A former ally,” Hanzo, with his bow returned to his back, crosses his arms. “You believe his rescue of you implies that he is fighting Talon influence.”

“Saving you doesn't mean he can be saved.” 76 insists. “If he is a former friend of yours... Talon's had him a long time. And Blackwatch before then. Those people weren't always good.”

“Don't I know it.” The cowboy sighs. He reaches into his pants pocket, and removes a cigarette from the pack hidden there. He lifts it to his lips, readies his lighter to light it – and then his hand is empty. McCree's wide eyes raise to examine Hanzo, standing there with the cigarette dangling between his fingers like a strange curiosity.

“These are bad for you.” the man states.

“Yeah,” McCree replies grumpily. “So's takin' things that don't belong to you, particularly when they're mine.” He reaches to snatch it back, and Hanzo leaps away, his metallic legs giving him an advantage when it comes to quick swift movement.

“Alright, children,” 76 comes between them, shaking his head. “Can we deal with this like grown ups now?”

“He took my smoke!” McCree is fuming by this point. He's stressed, low on sleep, desperate for a cigarette and more than worried about the coming days. These people weren't supposed to be here. They aren't his responsibility.

_That won't stop them getting caught in the crossfire._

“Damn it!” Cursing, McCree turns, and storms from the room. “Don't nobody bother me the rest of the night! I mean it!” As he walks, another door on the hall opens. Some civilian, irritated by the looks of him, about to complain about the noise.

McCree takes great enjoyment in simply grabbing his face as he walks by, throwing him into his room, as he keeps on walking.

 

* * *

  
At four in the morning, Mercy finds most of Overwatch gathered in the break room.

“Got any 3's?” Torbjorn sits at one table, with Tracer, Reindhart, and the newbie Symmetra.

“Go fish!” Tracer happily tells him, with a groan and a series of curses from the shorter agent.

“Um,” Mercy, hesitant to interrupt, steps forward. She has a question to ask, which has nothing to do with the scene before her, yet she can't help herself. “What are you doing?”

“Playing Go Fish!” Reinhardt says cheerily, the way he says everything.

“We tried playing a real card game.” Tracer informs her. “No one knew the same game, and trying to teach anyone the rules led to trouble right quick.”

“These games are all logic.” Symmetra says quietly, in a voice that for her is positively fuming. “It is unreasonable that you refuse to adhere to said logic. Do you have any fours?” Torbjorn turns red.

“I GOT A FOUR FOR YOU RIGHT HERE YOU -”

“Okay,” Mercy, backing away, holds up her hands. “I was just looking for McCree. Let me know if anyone sees him, will you?” No one really hears her. Which is fine, since she mostly just wants to make a getaway as quickly as possible.

On the other side of the room, she finds Genji, sitting in front of the television screen all by his lonesome. It's a strange sight. For all that he's a ninja that tends to stay hidden in the shadows, on base Genji's always been a friendly fellow. Not to mention, since inviting his brother, the two have rarely been far apart.

“Where's Hanzo?” Mercy asks curiously.

“Went grocery shopping.” Genji replies distractedly, flipping through channels. Mercy blinks.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” The ninja replies. “A midnight peanut butter run, apparently. Ask Winston. Apparently Lucio wrangled a couple of people into some kinda shenanigans.”

Mercy takes a seat beside him. “And you aren't curious what they might be?”

“Not really.” He shrugs. “My brother will be fine. It's good for him to finally be forming bonds with the team without me.”

Mercy hesitates. “... shopping for groceries?”

If he had a mouth, Mercy swears Genji would be smiling mischievously. “It's a start.”

 

* * *

  
McCree wakes up with a headache. That's his first sign that it's going to be a great day. It passes somewhat with coffee, but comes back with a roaring vengeance as soon as the others rejoin him.

“So, what's the plan, boss man?” Lucio asks as they depart the station. “Chasing leads? Sneaking into places? Fighting bad guys?”

“Eating breakfast,” McCree grumbles. “Aren't you ever tired?”

Lucio shrugs. “I live off of music and sunshine. Both of which we have in abundance.” He says as he places his headphones in his ears.

“What are you, a Care Bear?” the man is undeterred, jamming along with whatever is coming through his earbuds.

“Do you have a plan?” 76 growls behind him. McCree frowns at him, realizing quickly that they stand out pretty badly here.

“Yes,” He mutters, turning. “We're going shopping.”

 

* * *

  
**mercyful** : hey winston do u know what's up with mccree n co?

 **p_b_n_bananas** : wnt into town last night. they not back yet?

 **mercyful** : -angry_glare.gif- u did not notice?

 **One-with-the-iris** : ruh roh someones in trouble

 **mercyful** : unless u have something important to say butt out genji

 **one-with-the-iris** : hey u posted it in the group chat not my fault

 **SirReindhart** : Oh Good Morning My Friends! Are We All Having A Fine Morning Today? I Have Made Eggs and Toast

 **SirReindhart** : For Everyone

 **SirReindhart** : I Am Not Just Announcing My Breakfast It Is A Group Invitation To Feast

 **one-with-the-iris** : I dunno man that kinda sounds like something you would do

 

* * *

  
First things first; making his impromptu undercover team actually look undercover and not like a bunch of weirdos who took a wrong turn out of the nearest pop culture convention. It's hard to wrangle, since Hanzo is pricklier than a porcupine and 76 refuses to part with his mask – which just bothers the hell outta McCree, who all but tears the mask from the man's face. It doesn't work.

“Alright, gang,” McCree sputters, holding a hand to his bleeding, broken nose. “Let's mosey.”  Lucio's kind enough to heal him before they head off.

They're in Atlanta, and they are nowhere close to fitting in, but it's a start. Hanzo is wearing an entire shirt, instead of half of one, much to the archer's chagrin. Instead he's donned more typical street clothes, tight jeans and a black shirt with a white vest over top.

“This is inconvenient.” Hanzo scowls at his sleeve as if it offended him. “Hardly practical for a fight.”

“The goal of working like this is to not get into a fight.” McCree insists. “Would ya stop complainin' for a minute? Yer lucky I didn't leave ya in that ridiculous get up, and strand ya in the middle of Midtown.”

Hanzo blinks. “Again, I understand nothing of your words. You speak nonsense.”

“Midtown.” McCree shrugs as they walk. “Historically gay neighborhood. Lots of folk who'd appreciate some half naked archer action.”

He hopes to get a reaction – he'd love to get a blush. What he gets is a raised eyebrow. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“Since you seem to see most folks just as walking targets to shoot yer pointy sticks at, I figured it'd at least make ya uncomfortable.”

“What of you?” Hanzo smirks, glancing away. “You don those clothes but do you know their historical significance?”

“Wait a minute.” The man almost stops in the middle of the street. “Are ya tryin' to lecture me on the Wild West?”

“Most cowboys were more – flagrant than the Hollywood stories project.”

McCree hesitates for a moment. Then, he makes an exaggerated motion, arms extended. “ _Duh_. I mean really? Cowboys? Livin' on the range, just the menfolk, for months at a time? Don't think I could put two and two together and get dick?”

“Hm.” Hanzo seems mildly surprised.

McCree feels a small brush of pride at the reaction. “I knew all that. It was a kinda inside joke for myself, back in the day. Most gangs don't look kindly on such behavior. But I could wave a gun around and play cowboy all day and no one gave a damn.”

“Are we going to stop gossiping and get to work?” Behind them, 76 scowls. The expression isn't visible but it's implied by the tone of voice. He's in street clothes too, including a dark hoodie, which does basically nothing to hide the metallic mask and the red beam of his visor.

Beside him, Lucio fidgets, examining their surroundings with badly restrained glee and curiosity. McCree gives a heavy sigh.

_We're fucked._

 

* * *

  
**d.VA.stating** : maybe they got lost lol

 **mercyful** : how. how would they get lost

 **d.VA.stating** : dont worry so much mom theyll be fine

 **mercyful** : -embarrassed emoji- I am not mom

 **p_b_n_bananas** : you kinda are

 **mercyful** : shut up im still mad at u

 **p_b_n_bananas** : -sad gorilla.gif-

 **one-with-the-iris** : srsly tho if ur that worried I can go check it out

 **mercyful** : yes thank u!!! it would make me feel a lot better

 **one-with-the-iris** : -thumbs up.gif-

 

* * *

 

Jesse waits an hour and a half before slipping out the door.

He's in street clothes, acid washed ass-hugging jeans and a white button up shirt, tucked in, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. If it's a little reminiscent of a 'cowboy' esque look, well, he just couldn't help himself. Still, it's not far outside of what these places might typically expect, and he'll fit right in.

The place is called _Legends_ , a local bar that's been around for almost a century, with deep roots in the surrounding community. It's dead center in the gay part of town, and the bar itself is absolutely an LGBT-aimed location. Typical, then, that this is where his lead has led him.

It wasn't a secret, really, that most of Overwatch fit under the rainbow banner. They were all outcasts, after all, pulled from the dredges of society and the dark pits of the world, where all too often those looked down upon found themselves falling into.

Didn't Jesse know it.

His walk is practiced, a loping gait meant to draw the eye – playing the role of the handsome young man out on the town looking for someone to spend the night with. It's the perfect cover for attending the club, and why else would he be asking around for a man?

Hopefully, he'll find some info, head out with a new lead, and his “team” won't be around to fool with anything. Jesse turns a corner, sees the bar a street away, and makes through the alleyway for it -

And then there's an arrow in his face.

“Jesus,” Frowning, Jesse slides to a quick halt, frustration tightening his chest. “Are you kiddin' me? Here? In the middle of the street?”

“You snuck out.” Hanzo quips, loosening the bow. “Again.”

“At this point, I think yer doin' it to mess with me.” His words receive no reply, just a quiet smirk. “You are, ain't you? Ha!” The man laughs, hands on his hips. “Who knew grumpy dragon man had it in him?”

The smirk softens into a smile, and Hanzo puts his bow away. “I am not grumpy.”

McCree snorts. “Right. Yer just sunshine and daisies.” Rolling his eyes, he starts walking again, and the other man falls into step beside him.

Hanzo's in his own clothes again, the bow a conspicuous presence on his back, and McCree is silently fuming about it. Not that he can do much now. Hanzo notices the glares aimed at his back. He lifts a hand, adjusting the cord round his torso, removing the quiver and tying it to his leg instead.

“That's better?” McCree snorts. Hanzo ignores him, moving instead to remove his top, tying the arms around his waist and draping the bulk of the fabric over his weapon. “Whoa! What're ya doin'?”

The man's gaze lifts, and he smirks again. “You said the community might appreciate seeing my half naked form.” The smirk is downright devious. “Imagine their appreciation at the full package.”

“Right.” McCree swallows. His eyes are glued to the man's naked back as he walks away, all confidence and boldness. “... damn.”

 

* * *

  
_Legends_ is in love with Hanzo Shimada.

It's a bar and a nightclub that thrums with life. Blue and purple light flickering in the dark, illuminating the shades of half dressed men, women, and omnics. Drunk and sober folk hanging all over each other, indulging in behaviors that are only safe in such a space. Among drag queens and the queer folk of the city, a man wearing a cowboy hat is no strange thing at all. Specially since he's gay himself.

For a minute, McCree just hangs in the shadows and watches Hanzo. It's ridiculous. Hands are pawing all over him, admiring eyes from near and far, and he is handling it masterfully. A sly smile here, an encouraging look there, all teasing and yet just distant enough not to be seen as real encouragement. He charms them with stories of Japan that have nothing to do with violence or gang activity, and laughter echoes through the room.

It's fucking unbelievable.

He wants to be justified in his anger, but it's actually useful. No one's paying him any attention, and after the show Hanzo's put on, no one will even remember the middle aged southerner asking questions.

He starts at the bar. It's typical for most to assume a bartender would know the folks in his establishment – ain't true at all. Given the amount of people who come and go it'd be impossible to remember a specific face.

But a common face – a repeat customer – would be easy to remember. And those folks, the ones who spend the most time in Legends, would be the ones most likely to remember a newcomer who stood out.

Someone in a skull mask would definitely stand out.

So he asks, and he finds the regulars, and asks them. They all have the same story: the tall stranger with the rumbling voice, who sat and drank in the dark, empty eyes boring holes into the dance floor. Impossible to tell if he's watching, or just waiting. A few brave performers danced his way, and he allowed them, never touching, simply relaxing in his seat and letting them gyrate over his lap.

“Strangest thing I've ever seen.” One woman told him. “Kinda creepy, to be honest.”

He's been twice, in the last month. It fits. Talon activity in the region, and a man in a mask making a few stops to a local seedy nightclub, where no 'upstanding' citizens would be around to recognize him. Anonymity among the marginalized and the poor. Even if they knew he was wanted, the likelihood that anyone in these neighborhoods would turn him into the authorities was minuscule.

No one would even know to look for Reaper here. Who could imagine? The hell does a mercenary need with a gar bar? But killers are men, too, after all, and if the man behind the mask is who Jesse thinks... _he always liked places like this. Never danced, never really talked. He always just hovered. Like it was a comfort to be near the community even if he didn't know how to be part of it himself._

But the fact that he never left with anyone or connected to them at all is a problem in itself. The club's now a dead end. McCree makes for the bar where he last saw Hanzo, who still has a slew of strangers practically laying on him.

Pushing through, the man grunts, frowning in annoyance. “Hanzo!” He shouts over the din. “Hey! Bowman! We gotta git!”

A few of the people notice him pushing through, and one frowns. “Who're you?” Another gasps.

“Aw,” One woman says somberly. “Don't tell me your Mr. Hanzo's man?” As brokenhearted as the woman sounds, there's also something fond and adoring in the words.

McCree stalls completely. “... what?”

Hanzo has no such reaction. The man stands, and the crowd moves around him naturally. It's all McCree can do to stand there, slacked jawed, as the other man steps right into his space. Thigh against thigh, sides brushing, one arm moving around his waist to pull them together even tighter.

“I'm afraid the night is over for us.” He tells the complaining crowd. A sly glance, full of heat, turns upon McCree and his blood boils in his veins. “But for us... it has only just begun.” Hoots and hollers fill the room, with a 'boo' or too here and there, quickly silenced by the others. In a stunned daze Jesse lets himself be pulled from the bar, out into the street, a bit further from the building and into a side alley.

Hanzo is immediately all business, pulling his shirt back on. “What did you find?”

McCree works his jaw, mouthing silently like a fish. “... I... what?”

The man freezes, glances up, gaze narrowing. “What. Did you find?”

Shaking his head, McCree laughs breathlessly, running a hand through his hair. “Damnit, man. Fuckin' shit. You're good at this.” Hanzo manages a smirk at that. He straightens himself up, and stands.

“Again, I ask the same question.” At the irritation in his tone, McCree manages to find his voice, and restart his brain again. If there's a rosy blush on the cowboy's face, neither of them mention it.

 

* * *

  
On a rooftop across the street, 76 watches the duo leave the bar.

It's the kind of place he would of liked, once upon a time. The fact that McCree's investigating it is enough to tell him he thinks Reaper's in the area. Which means he has a haunt nearby. It'll be in the district, near the underbelly, but not too far in the dark as to become suspicious. He'll avoid other criminal fronts and businesses with unsavory practices – put up the front of being straight and narrow himself.

That leaves a few places in the area. 76 stands, leaving the younger men to their own actions, and takes to the shadows to search for himself.

 

* * *

  
                    Genji            3:43  
\------------------------------  
                                  yo luci where  
                                  u guys at?   
  
Atl

                                  wut???

atlanta.  
This sux T.T

                                  okay that's a  
                                   really long  
                                  way for a  
                                  grocery run  
                                   but -hugs.gif-  
                                   what's up?

So we went on  
this secret mission  
to help out mccree right

and then everybody  
just left me  
at the hotel

screw them man  
I was just tryin  
to help T^T

  
                                    -you_are_too_good  
                                    _for_this_world.gif-  
                                     dun worry  
                                    luci baby  
                                    genji's comin

 

* * *

 

  
At four in the morning, there are gunshots in downtown Atlanta. Which is really nothing out of the ordinary. It's the shooters who are quite truly extraordinary, and as such incredibly dangerous.

There's explosions ringing through the streets, and McCree's head snaps up with a curse. “Shit!” He's not sure how he knows, but he just knows. Reaper has to be involved in this. Talon's around, and the mercenary is too, and... oh shit.

“Did anybody else leave the hotel with you? Or after you?” He asks as they run toward the chaos.

Hanzo frowns. That's answer enough. “Shit!” McCree curses. He should have inquired into 76 more. Should've wondered why the man insisted on coming. Then he might have noticed this grudge match coming before it set Atlanta on fire.

They turn down a road in time to see a man in red and blue careening through the air, slamming hard into the nearest brick wall. He slumps with a groan and a shake of his head, but he's on his feet quick, stumbling weakly.

“Hey. Hey!” McCree runs at him, not at all hesitating to grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest (intact) wall. “The hell are you thinkin'?”

“What'd you think was gonna happen when you found him?” The man chuckles dryly. “You'd sit him down and have a nice chat?”

“Maybe!” McCree scowls furiously. “Now we don't know do we? You ain't a vigilante anymore, ya hear? You can't go running off on your own!”

That sparks a real laugh that bubbles out of the man, with a hint of blood and pain. “Look who's talking.” 76 says. “You _ain't_ one anymore, either.”

It takes him off guard; hits him like one of Hanzo's arrows to his chest. But before he can really process it, the man himself shouts. “GET DOWN!”

A hail of bullets has them falling for the ground, hands flying over their heads as concrete and debris falls down. It's nothing much – the buildings stay standing for the most part. But bullets keep coming, an almost unending storm, and at this point they have nowhere to go. The alley is collapsing inward, the far end closed off, and while Hanzo could easily escape, McCree and the injured 76 are not so lucky.

Said soldier is now coughing thickly, drawing McCree's attention. He's been shot all to hell, and without a medic for backup, he's only worsening. Jesse moves towards him, crawling along the ground, trying to lift the man as best he can.

“Damnit, man,” he grunts in the silence between shots, as Reaper replaces his weapons. “You're gonna fuckin choke!” He's trying to get the mask off, and 76 is stubbornly clinging to it with trembling fingers. “Let it go!”

McCree pries the mask off. Blood has coated the inside, and falls free in a disgusting thick slide, slipping around the man's thin cracked lips. Jesse lifts his gaze to hazy, white eyes, and his voice catches in his throat.

“ _Jack_.”

“Cowboy!” Arrows are flying overhead. For once, McCree won't complain about it. Hanzo stands on a pile of rubble, ducking up and down as he fires back at Reaper. “Cease dawdling! We must move!”

“I have a name!” He insists back, turning 76 onto his side. “Ain't no way we're moving, I ain't leavin' either one of them!”

He's come this far. There's no going back.

A string of angry Japanese escapes the archer. “You are foolish!” He insists. “And you will get us all killed!”

“You'll be fine.” He insists. Suddenly, he jumps – his phone's buzzing. “What in the world?” He pulls it out and sees a text flashing on the screen.

_**Genji** : Look up! C:<_

A heavy, only slightly annoyed sigh escapes McCree. “Yer brother's here.”

That has Hanzo hesitating for a moment. But the arrows don't stop. “I see.”

“Hey brother!” Genji's voice echoes down from the rooftop above. “Having fun!” McCree looks up, and sees the man's not alone.

“Lucio!” Relief floods him. “We got a man down! Get over here!”

“Fuck you!”

“What?” Stunned, the man continues administering to 76 as best he can, while also flicking his gaze back incredulously at the man on the roof.

“You heard me!” Lucio's furious face appears for one moment over the side, before Reaper fires again and he ducks away. “You _left_ me!”

A heavy groan escapes him. “I didn't – not technically!” He insists. “I left everybody, the others were just too stubborn to stay.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Lucio huffs, crossing his arms from behind the barrier. “See if I help you again, ever.”

Genji, kneeling next to him, turns, voice heavy with concern. “Hey... you know... I mean, 76 is kinda bleeding a lot...”

“Let him!” Furious eyes turn on the ninja. “Maybe then they'll appreciate my contributions to the team, huh!”

“Seriously, though, he's like _dying_.”

“GOOD!”

“Aw, fuck me,” Sighing, McCree gestures to Hanzo. The man rolls across the ground, coming to a halt beside them. “Take care of him.” He hands 76 over to the other, and moves towards the break in the wall.

“Don't shoot!” He starts. “I'm coming out unarmed!” The gunfire ceases. There's a heavy silence.

“ **Ha, ha**.” It's heavy, dark. A shiver runs down McCree's spine in spite of himself. “ **Sure you are**.”

Reluctantly, McCree takes Peacekeeper from his belt. He holds his hand out, dangling it from one finger. “Sorry, darlin',” He whispers, before tossing it to the ground towards his opponent.

“There, happy? Can we talk for a minute here?”

There's just silence. No words, no gunfire. Jesse McCree breathes in heavy, and deep. Then he stands. Takes a turn, steps into the line of fire, arms raised, and sets eyes on the other man.

He looks the same. Same clothes, same mask. The guns are still raised, ridiculously huge and showy. Another thing the two have in common. The idea is solidifying in his mind, only a hint of doubt still left in his heart. McCree takes a step forward.

“Hurry up.” Reaper grumbles, smoke rolling from the mask in waves. Behind McCree, 76 – Jack Morrison – struggles to stand.

“Jesse – damn it!” The man grimaces, clasping a hand over his wounds. “He can't be reasoned with! You're gonna get yourself killed you idiot!”

“ **You should listen to your friend**.” The other chuckles. But the guns fall, and the eerie mask cocks to the side, curious.

“You -” Mouth dry, McCree lets his hands fall. His palms are sweaty, shaking. “You saved me.”

That prompts a bark of laughter. **“Is that what this is – gratitude? You came to thank me?”**

He shakes his head, determination hardening in his heart. He's certain. He's sure. This is what he has to do, no matter what. “I came to save you back.”

More laughter. The guns rise again.

Still, he keeps talking. “You saved me, before, too.” McCree takes a step forward. It's stupid, but he can't help it. His heart knows what his mind is still realizing. This is real. This is – him, standing before him again. The posture, the form, it's all the same. Tears sting his eyes. “I was lost real deep in the dark and you came to me like a beacon in a storm, saved my life.”

“You know, Gabriel was an angel of the Lord, His messenger, brought the Word to the people.” McCree smiles, cheeks wet. “That's what you were to me. You brought the message.”

 **“Stop this meaningless drivel**.” The voice is harsh, uncaring, he can't see the expression on the man's face, but he knows – he knows – his words are touching something, maybe it's buried, maybe it's broken, but it's there. Reaper actually steps back, guns still raised but he doesn't shoot.

“Gabriel Reyes.” He says it, tests the words. “It's you? Isn't it? Gabe... please...”

An anguish roar interrupts him, and for a moment McCree realizes he's pushed too hard, too fast. Blood rushes in his veins and his heartbeat drums in his ears until it's all he can hear. Reaper is furious, guns aimed, someone is screaming his name -

 _Thwip_.

There's a shot. A single solitary shot, not from a shotgun, but from above. Reaper hesitates, gaze falling to the dart sticking out of his chest. “... the hell?”

McCree, just as frozen, stares in shock. Reaper turns to look at him, and the man shrugs. “Don't look at me!”

With another growl, he moves in a flash towards McCree – _thwip, thwip, thwip_. Three more jab into the man, in his shoulders and chest, and he hesitates again, faltering. Knees weakening, moving almost drunkenly. Finally, he succumbs to whatever's in the darts, and slams face first into the ground.

For a minute McCree stays still, hands still up, in awe of what had just occurred.

“McCree!” Anguished cries erupt from behind him. The cowboy turns; 76 is still sprawling on the ground, trying to crawl across the rubble. Lucio's joined them, kneeling at the man's side and doing his best to keep him from moving, with little effect. “Damnit, Jesse, talk to me!”

 _Thwip_.

Another solitary dart – this one... right in Jack Morrison's left butt cheek. With all the injuries the man's sustained, it takes hardly a second for the sleep effect to take hold. McCree watches, suspicion and shock warring in his heart, as the shooter leaps down from above, hooded and smiling.

“I've always wanted to hit that ass,” Ana Amari grins.

 

 


	2. bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> genji is a little shit, hints of mchanzo, lots of gabe and mccree feels. this fic keeps growing longer.

  
The kitchen is already alive with activity when Mei walks in.

It's eight in the morning, and most of Overwatch is awake. The few stragglers are coming in slowly; most have been awake for hours. Soldiers in the habit of being up and at them first thing rarely find themselves capable of the luxury of sleeping in.

Reinhart is making pancakes in a great enormous pink apron, which on any other man might be thought of as a joke or lost bet. No, this is a well worn item clearly bought by the man himself, which reads “KISS THE COOK BUT DON'T TOUCH THE BUNS”.

Winston is already working, focused on data pads at the nearest table, with a banana in hand. Tracer is trying her best to annoy him and Reinhart into paying attention to her. Between the two of them, Symmetra sits sipping tea, reading something of her own, appearing to be distant and above all their nonsense, despite the fact that she looks up every so often and smiles at the domestic scene.

Zenyatta is meditating near the open window; not needing food, but enjoying the company anyway. Not far behind him, Torbjorn is grumbling under his breath and shooting the omnic glares while waiting for breakfast – he doesn't get away with it when Genji's around, but he gets braver when the monk is alone.

Mercy is the only one unaccounted for (besides their missing team), which isn't strange – she's been known to work long through the night into the next day.

“Um,” Mei steps forward, her phone clutched nervously between her hands. “Excuse me?”

“Nein, fraulien!” Reinhart smacks at the air with the spatula, but Tracer's already gone, having snagged half a pancake.

“Mmh, wonderful, darling!” She giggles around the bite, ignoring the angry German string of words.

“No more stealing! You must wait for everyone!”

“Guys?”

“That'll be forever!” Tracer chuckles again. “Half of 'em's cross the sea by now.”

“Hello...?”

“Is something wrong?”

Mei jumps, with a squeal that finally draws everyone's attention. Zenyatta floats beside her, lowering his legs and coming to stand next to her as she catches her breath. “I apologize,” The metallic voice reverberates. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“I – It's alright,” She smiles at him, still flustered. “I just – has anyone been reading Lucio's twitter?”

The room goes quiet. Then a flurry of movement as most of the room reaches for their phones.

“Is something wrong?” Zenyatta, not having a phone despite Genji's constant insistence he should get one, leans forward as Mei pulls up the tweets and reads them aloud.

_Heading out with OVRW. Funtimes!! #justherothings_

_checkin into hotel down in ATL! I am all about this nightlife! :D_

_my team sucks... :c left me in the hotel_

_maybe I shud take the healing beats elsewhere... #depressed_

_holy shitt!!! shots going down!!! updates asap #overwatch_

_how do u like me now cowboy!!!! #fckumccree_

_all good, everyones safe! All is forgiven. Maybe lol #watchurbackmccree_

_hiding out like a boss. New friends, old faces! No pics rn but maybe later c;_

“Then there's this.”

The whole group is now gathered around Mei, no longer bothering to try their own phones. It's like gravity drawing them in, the dawning horror of realization rising over all of them. Something big is happening with their team and they aren't even there. Mei flips the phone, showing a full screen photo that all eyes are glued to.

It's a bunker of some kind, like a prison room, but with a translucent glass wall dividing the middle. On one side sits a man in black with a strange skull-like mask. The other has another masked man, this one very familiar to them.

“That's 76!” Winston all but grabs the phone form Mei, who yelps.

“Why'd they trap our own man?” Tracer gasps and grabs it from him in turn, using her powers to flit about the room. “You don't think – he turned on 'em!”

“There's more!” Mei reaches for her phone, and is relieved when it's handed over. “See?”

_so rescue mission successful, sortve! We saved mccrees old teacher but hes kinda mad at us lol_

_well mad at 76 for some reason. Ms amari is trying to make them kiss n make up_

_and yes ms amari is ms ana amari former ovrw amazing right????? this is so cool #blessed_

_The cage is supposed to be murder proof so they have to talk it out lol nice_

_Also shud prolly stop tweeting this. But ms amari said its cool so #whatever_

_oh no. its not murder proof. skullguy can turn into smoke and choke ppl apparently #learningnewthings #overwatch_

_76 is okay. Err, jack I guess. Wtf right??? prolly shouldnt tweet that. #butidid #cantstopwontstop_

_oh and skullguy is reyes. Like wow holy shit??? blast from the past. Hubbies havin some issues #theyllworkitout #recruitsforoverwatch_

Reinhart is the first to say it, very loudly, in his native tongue. “/Holy shit!/”

* * *

  
“So run this by me one more time.”

Amari smirks, arms crossed, and its clear by the expression on her face that she knows McCree is just trying to be annoying. “You go into the cage. Try and talk to him some. His connections to Jack and I are too twisted and bitter now; but you are his child in all but name.” That sends a spark through him, a weak kneed feeling that ties his stomach in knots.

“I... what?”

She smiles knowingly. “He won't hurt you. A parent may grow bitter towards their spouse but they will always love the children that they raised with them.”

“Are Jack and Gabe our dads now?” Genji hovers on the edge, clearly taking amusement from McCree's nerves. “Cool. That makes us brothers, McCree! Now I have at least one sibling who never murdered me.” He says it so joyfully despite the absolute chill it sends through the others. In fact, he seems to take an absurd joy out of creating that tension.

“Just...” Sighing, Amari shakes her head. “Trust me. You will get through to him.”

“I'll come, too,” Genji finally walks over. “I mean, I wasn't as close to him as you were, but I was still a kid of Overwatch back then. And hey!” He smacks McCree on the back. “If he tries that choking trick again, it's cool 'cause I don't have to breathe!”

“Just peachy,” Jesse groans.

* * *

  
It's not that he doesn't want to talk to Gabe.

It's just – he didn't really think this far ahead.

* * *

  
_Everything reeks of rust. It's a bitter taste in his mouth, like choking on iron. This isn't how it was supposed to be. On his own, slumped over in a crumbling warehouse surrounding by two bit thugs. No one even knows he's here._

_Maybe that's fitting, after all._

_It's hard to breathe. Cloying for breath, choking as he struggles to reload. His fingers keep slipping off the barrel. If this is it, he ain't gonna die lying down. He... ain't..._

_Footsteps. Heavy, powerful, slow and steady. Even as his vision blurs, McCree forces himself to his feet, reloads, and aims with a slightly shaking hand. Something's coming. Some shadow from the dark, blurred and faded in his weak vision._

_He doesn't hesitate – he fires. Even weak as he is, Jesse's aim is true. Only it doesn't seem to matter. The thing keeps walking towards him, a blurred shade of dark shadows and a bone white face. Coughing, McCree begins to slump again, heart pounding in his chest as it becomes terrifyingly real -_

_“Sir!” More footsteps. Guns are aimed at him, half a dozen Talon thugs, and he's low on bullets now. Got four in the chamber. Apparently bullets aren't good enough for this demon in front of him. “We've got orders to kill on sight. You want the honors?”_

_He's the reaper, gotta be. Hooded, cloaked in darkness, here to drag him down below. He wonders who he'll see. Part of him thinks he won't possibly be alone down there in hell, his guilt dragging him down – part of him desperately hopes he'll never seen them there, that they're somewhere else._

_The reaper stands there, quiet, still. Then he raises his gun._

* * *

  
The doors slam shut behind them, locking them in, and McCree tries to ignore the lump in his throat.

Genji doesn't seem as bothered, but that's not to say he isn't. The ninja has perfected the art of pretending, of keeping his worries and problems so close to the chest no one else can see they're there. Zenyatta has thus far been the only one capable of seeing through the bullshit to what's really there. McCree can at least tell when Genji is putting on a false face.

Today, he's too bothered himself to be able to figure out someone else's feelings. Genji takes a seat in a chair, legs crossed, hands holding his ankles, and with that mask over his face it's impossible to tell if he's staring in shocked incredulity the way McCree is.

Sure, they've been through this song and dance. Only it still feels impossible. Jesse sits down in his own chair hard, sighing, and dropping his head into his hands.

“Come on, McCree,” Genji turns to him, voice light and cheerful. It's a bit forced. “I told you not to worry. He can't choke me, remember? Besides, my brother is right outside.”

That makes the man look up. The walls are thick steel, so it's not like he can see the man, but he's suddenly even more aware of his own disposition. “How do ya know?”

“I know.” Genji insists. “He would not have allowed either of us inside if he were not on guard outside.”

The man snorts. “I don't think he gives a damn about me.” The cowboy insists. “And what the hell could he do out there?”

Genji gives nothing away. But he does cock his head. “You haven't noticed.” Then he chuckles. “Of course not.”

Reaper is silent, still, and completely unreadable. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, mask hiding his expression. The hood throws a shadow over the upper half that makes his look even more ominous.

Jesse – can't handle it, yet. It's actually easier to address whatever weird shit Genji is hinting at. “Whaddya mean?”

“My brother has been rather forward with you lately.” Genji's voice is practically teasing. “He's all but proclaimed his interest in you – though I'm sure nothing short of a direct 'please fuck me' is going to get through your skull.”

McCree's heart stops. “What?” There might have been a loud bang on the wall and some angry shouting outside, but it's hard to hear through the reinforced walls.

Genji laughs again. “Hanzo. He's flirting with you!”

That gets a sputter of incredulous laughter from the man. “Flirtin'? You think that's flirting? All he's done is threaten me and wave that bow in my face, so unless the arrow is a metaphor for his dick, I ain't seeing it.”

“It is.” Genji says with an even, straight laced tone. “It is a metaphor for his dick.”

“No,” More chuckling, shaking his head. “You got this one all wrong.”

“Do I?” The ninja scoots the chair over, leaning forward to look into man's downturned face. “He chose to come with you before anyone else, even though it wasn't sanctioned by the team. There was nothing for him to gain in this.”

Color takes to the man's cheeks. “He told me. It was for 'honor'. Ain't nothin' to do with me.”

The ninja hums, a robotic thrumming sound that manages to be taunting. “Right. Whatever you say cowboy-san.”

Laugher.

Not his, not Genji's. Rich, rumbling laughter, with the pained roughness of a smoker's lungs. It surprises both men, who turn to see that Reaper's shoulders are shaking slightly. The mask hides his expression. Everything else looks the same, but for that slight movement, and the sound filling the air around them.

It's... Gabe. God, it strikes right at his heart, clenches his chest and it hurts. Hurts good, hurts awful. There are tears burning at his eyes but McCree manages to smile.

“Somethin' funny, viejo?”

“You two.” He keeps chuckling. “Nothing's changed. Even though everything has.” The unsettling mask stares them down and McCree fights the urge to get over there and tear it off somehow. “Back with Overwatch, huh?” The man scoffs. “Here I thought you both walked away.” There's some bitterness there – and maybe he's not furious with them, but there's still enough anger in Gabriel's heart for him to feel some towards Jesse and Genji.

They left him. Left all of them. And then, they died.

McCree's shoulders slump, arms set against his thighs. There are so many questions he needs to ask, so many things he wants to know. Before, he'd have known what to say, what to do, how to draw Gabriel out of his shell. Now? He's not sure. It's like the man said.

Nothing's change, yet everything has.

* * *

  
_The reaper raises his gun not at him, but at Talon._

_It hits Jesse like a bullet, only he hasn't been shot. The sound ricochets, a man cries out, someone that isn't him. The enemy is firing on his own. It just – doesn't make sense._

_Too tired and shocked, McCree slumps to the ground, barely able to stand. There's a lot of blood below him now. Whether or not they shoot him, he's done for already. The hat slips from his head, flutters to the ground and sits in a pool of blood._

_Time passes – maybe he passed out, fell asleep, or just slipped away for a moment. Next he knows, the footsteps are back. Heavy, even paced. The black figure steps into his line of sight again. Long, thick legs approach and kneel._

_“Hey, mijo,” A rumbling, raspy voice rolls over him. It seems so unreal, so far away. “Tch.” A string of irritated Spanish follows, which McCree understands just fine – his mother taught it to him from his cradle. 'You always were a pain in the ass', the stranger says, and McCree's almost too tired to wonder what it means._

_Hands cradle him, pull his weak body forward, and against his will he moans and slumps against the stranger's shoulder._

_“Never tried this before,” The man grunts. “But I figure it'll work.”_

_He has no idea what that means – only the man starts to glow a little, a red hue, smoke unfurling from the shadows under his cloak. He breathes it in, gasps on it, yet somehow he starts to feel better. The wound is closing. Still, Jesse's lost so much blood that he's in no shape to take care of himself, let alone sit up._

_The stranger holds him. Clawed hands move him with delicate grace, careful to never put too much pressure or cause pain. The embrace heals him. The smoke gives life back to his lungs. He'll never understand how or why but somehow this stranger with a ghost's voice saved his life._

_Afterwards, half-asleep, McCree feels the man setting him against the wall. A moment later, the hat is placed back upon his head, slumped forward._

_More angry Spanish. “Idiot.” Yet, the hand that places the hat on his head settles there for a minute, almost fondly. “Be more careful next time. I won't be there to save your ass like before.”_

_The hand leaves. He stands, the heavy footsteps begin leading him away, growing distant. Jesse's hand twitches. A ghost lingers in his head._

_He sleeps. When he wakes up, he starts to wonder._

* * *

  
The silence drags on for minutes unending. McCree can't find words to fill it. To his great relief, Genji comes to the rescue for him.

“I got lost,” He starts. Voice somber, soft. “Overwatch filled the void for a time, but eventually I could no longer ignore the reality of my situation. I was a monster, no longer human. What did it matter, what did anything matter, when I was not even sure I was really alive anymore?” The ninja turns his head away; McCree realizes he's the only one in the room without a mask to hide behind. Still, he can see right through Genji. He'd reaches out, places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes supportively.

“It took a long time, and many years with my mentor, to find my way again.” The man begins. “Who I am now, would never have left you or Jack to fend for yourselves. I greatly regret that I did not see, that I did not do more to stem the tide that swept Overwatch – the people of Overwatch – away.”

More quiet. Stiff, still. “A mentor, huh?” Gabriel says quietly.

Genji immediately perks up at the invitation to speak. “He is a great teacher, incredibly wise. I imagine he could help you as well – I do not think you are a cyborg but perhaps you feel much as I did once. Zenyatta would be glad to help you.”

“An omnic?”

“A monk.” Genji insists. “I suppose seeing McCree had you, perhaps I was jealous.” His tone is teasing but Jesse still flushes, frowning. “I went looking for a mentor of my own. Only, our relationship is quite different.”

“And how's that?”

“Pretty sure they're fuckin',” McCree manages to say. It's about all he can manage at the moment. Again, he has no idea how Gabriel's reacting. It irritates him to no end at this point.

“Nothing so crude.” Of course the tone is hardly insulted, its more smug. “I love him. I have found my peace with him. I can only hope you one day find such peace with my brother.”

Red takes over his face again, burning all the way to his ears. “Now see here -!”

The door opens. 76 stands in the opening, on his feet again, when only a few hours ago he'd been in the med bay recovering from Gabe's attack. He walks in and shuts the door. “Enough.” The man grumbles, gesturing to the door. “You've fooled around far too long.”

Jack's as grumpy and stiff as ever. Maybe worse than before. But Jesse is honestly ready to escape the room, so he rises and makes to leave.

“Jesse.”

He could just leave. Yet the voice traps him, wraps round his heart like a lasso and he is incapable of resisting. How many years did he obey that voice without question? Trust the man who owned it with his life? Sighing, the exhausted cowboy turns, and comes face to face with a thick chest.

“Holy-!” He jumps, Jack raises his gun, Genji leaps between the two older men. Gabriel isn't paying them any attetion. All eyes are on Jesse, or at least he thinks so, since the mask is still on.

A gloved, clawed hand rises, and grips the mask. Jesse's breath catches in his throat.

“You've been real jumpy, mijo,” The man starts. The claws grip the edges, tugging it away, and the voice is clearer now. “Scared of ghosts?”

The hand falls away. Red eyes burn into his, with the same fiery intensity as long ago. He looks so similar, if not for the scars, the awful scars, the way the flesh wears away thin, the pastier color of it. His teeth are sharper, his voice like gravel, yet it is him.

It's Gabriel.

He's crying. Jesse McCree is crying and he doesn't care, can't bring himself to care.

“I ain't afraid of you.” The man scoffs. “But I am scared. I'm damn petrified I'm gonna do somethin' foolish and next I know you'll vanish like smoke.”

Gabriel scoffs. “After all the stupid shit you've pulled, you think you're gonna run me off now?” He shakes his head, smiling. It's so familiar. Sure the teeth are unnatural and soft puffs of smoke escape him with almost every word, but it's Gabe.

McCree can't help but smile. “Boss,” He grins, cheeks wet. “Boss.”

Jack Morrison, Genji Shimada, everyone else – none of them matter. Jesse throws himself at the man and wraps his arms round him tight, as if he plans never to let go.

 

 


End file.
